


It's Better Not to Argue

by lucymonster



Category: Bleach
Genre: Food Porn, M/M, actual porn, everyone is happy for once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 08:33:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucymonster/pseuds/lucymonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Renji has the utmost respect for his captain’s orders. Especially when those orders involve the words ‘dine with me’.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Better Not to Argue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [taydev](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taydev/gifts).



> I'm so pleased to be able to post this on Valentine's Day! Very thematically appropriate, I think. Working title was 'nothing really happens only everyone eats good food and is happy', and honestly I've hardly diverged at all from that original mission statement. 
> 
> For my beloved Taydev, who deserves all the happiness in the world but is kind enough to settle for a modest helping of fluffy porn when it's all I can offer. Many thanks also to Vorvayne for the heroic beta effort and for saving Renji's spine from at least one very unfortunate positioning oversight.

The Kuchiki manor has always reminded Renji a great deal of its owner: beautiful, imposing, and completely unapproachable.

 

He’s stood outside it too many times to count. He’s been through the gardens on several occasions, when they were graciously opened to the public. Once or twice he’s even waited for Rukia in the foyer, foolish and flustered under the stern gaze of the steward who opened the door to him. He’s never been properly inside before, to the inner quarters where the family eat and sleep and do whatever it is that nobles do in their off hours. But there’s a first time for everything - and as it turns out, the inside of Byakuya and Rukia’s home is twice as big and at least three times as beautiful as Renji ever could have imagined it.

 

“Renji?” comes Rukia’s voice, and Renji realises he’s been tuning out; two faces are turned toward him, wearing identical expressions of slightly condescending tolerance that must be some kind of learned family skill since it’s not, in fact, hereditary. Renji is still reeling a little from the meal he just ate: the most delicious balance of flavours he’s ever tasted, all presented in beautiful form in antique dishes chosen with care to emphasise the seasonality of the food. He wants to shove his chopsticks back in his mouth and suck the last residue of flavour from them, wants to pick up each dish and lick it clean, and in his struggle for self-containment Renji has completely tuned out the delivery of a brimming jug of sake and the filling of his cup before him. Now his companions are holding theirs and waiting for him expectantly: a toast. Right. Heat rising to his cheeks, he picks up his glass and beams around to show he’s ready.

 

“There is no need for a lengthy speech tonight,” says Byakuya, drawing Renji’s attention inadvertently towards another potent source of distraction in the room: the sight of his captain out of uniform, dressed in muted grey silk that softens his features and leaves him younger somehow, less forbidding. “Rukia, my heartfelt congratulations on your promotion today. You will make a fine lieutenant.”

 

“Hear, hear!” Renji pulls himself back to the moment and raises his cup high, and in the ensuing round of “kanpai!” he watches her cheeks glow bright with pleasure. She’s earned this. There’s not a soul left in Seireitei who isn’t willing now to acknowledge her strength, and Renji feels touched that he, after Byakuya, is the person she’s chosen to celebrate the occasion with. He drains his cup with gusto, and it’s a few delayed moments later that the full significance of what he’s just experienced dawns on him.

 

“Oh my god,” he says to the now-silent room. “Oh, shit, wow.”

 

The silence lasts several moments longer, and then the awkward shifting and quiet throat-clearing starts creeping in around the edges. “Is...something wrong?” asks Rukia, sounding unnecessarily cautious considering the occasion, and Renji realises belatedly that his mouth is hanging wide open and the rest of his face is contorted into god only knows what kind of expression. “Is the drink no good?” When Renji doesn’t reply, she adds uncertainly, “did yours go bad or something?”

 

“Mine tasted normal,” says Byakuya, as Renji continues to gape stupidly at his empty cup. Byakuya takes a cautious sniff at his own, looking puzzled. “The bottle was just opened now, surely it can’t have spoiled…”

 

Finally, _finally_ the embarrassment is setting in enough to shake Renji from his torpor. “Sorry,” he says, hastily pulling his contorted facial muscles back into his best impression of normal. “That was, um...that was...can I have another?”

 

He’s being rude, he’s sure, but he can’t bring himself to care just yet. Because all he knows is that the sake he just downed was, without competition, the single best thing he’s ever tasted in his life.

 

An unladylike snort from Rukia breaks the silence that follows. “Here,” she says, leaning over to refill Renji’s cup while Byakuya just blinks at him, bemused. And Renji wants to make conversation, like he knows he’s expected to on an occasion like this. He wants to, but there’s way too much sake in his mouth as he hastily falls upon his second drink without thought for manners or self-restraint, and all he can think about is that he’s never had anything like this before.

 

“This is... _amazing_ ,” he says once the last drop is drained from his glass. “Holy shit, it’s so…” complex, smooth, subtly earthy, tantalisingly delicious… “ _Good_ ,” he finishes, wide-eyed and still gaping a little. This is nothing like the acrid swill he used to gulp down with a wrinkled nose at the eleventh. It’s not even like the delicate, watery stuff he sometimes gets at the classier parties Matsumoto likes to throw sometimes. It’s expensive. So expensive that, poised to hold out his cup for another refill, Renji freezes up as the swooping sensation in his stomach threatens to bowl him over. He looks at Byakuya, then at Rukia, then down at the elegant hand-painted cup  in his hands, and it dawns on him that his whole career’s worth of wages probably wouldn’t cover the two cups he’s just downed. “Uh,” he splutters, “way too good for me, come to think of it. Whew, going to my head already!” A hand flies up to scratch awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Think I’d better slow down now, wouldn’t want me going through any more…”

 

“Renji.” Beneath the flat disapproval in Rukia’s voice there’s a glimmer of amusement; beside her Byakuya looks as calm as ever, but Renji rather fancies he sees a phantom twitch of those stern, unsmiling lips. “It’s there for drinking, you know.”

 

“I…” Renji gulps. Eyes the near-full jug of sake in Rukia’s hands as she reaches out to offer him a refill. Shoots a quick glance at Byakuya, whose lips are definitely twitching a bit now. Looks down at his empty cup. Contemplates the mind-blowingly delicious aftertaste still lingering in his mouth. “Yes, please,” he says weakly.

 

And those two words are all it takes to send Renji to heaven.

 

It’s not just the sake (although that alone is good enough that his eyes are starting to water). A new tray has been brought out along with the drinks, bearing an assortment of tiny, delicate-looking morsels most of which Renji can’t even identify. It doesn’t take him long to completely forget to be self-conscious, because each mystery bite he takes is somehow better than the last. And he’s not trying to badger, but Byakuya doesn’t seem to mind answering the questions that spill out in rapid succession between mouthfuls. _Uni_ , he explains patiently, and _ankimo_ , which looks pretty funny to Renji but sends him nearly boneless with bliss at its taste.

 

“I never realised you had such a...keen interest in food,” says Byakuya, once Renji has polished off the last morsels close to an hour later. Byakuya has been subdued until now, content to sip his drink quietly while Rukia and Renji settled into boisterous conversation. But now Rukia is starting to look dazed and sleepy, cheeks flushed pink from all the sake she’s drunk, and Renji thinks he might be too full to move any more, and only Byakuya looks as composed and alert as he did at the beginning of the evening. His expression is one of polite curiosity, and Renji can’t read past it but he knows his captain well enough to know there’s more than that to the question. He’s too happy and sated to play guessing-games tonight; he answers honestly.

 

“Never really had the money to be a proper foodie,” he says. “Not with like, rare delicacies and quality booze like this...where’d you get it, by the way?” He lifts his empty cup for an unnecessary but illustrative sniff. “Haven’t seen much like this at the local shop. Family business?”

 

Byakuya gives him a strange look, but he seems amused rather than offended. “Not exactly. We own the land the brewer works on, but the business is his own - he’s quite famous for it, at least among the noble houses. This bottle was a gift from him in honour of Rukia’s promotion.”

 

“Generous gift,” says Renji, letting out a low whistle before he can stop himself. He should have realised this was more than just a market-stall purchase. “And, uh...the rest of it? What about that fancy fish-liver stuff you said was a delicacy? Was that a gift?”

 

Renji’s not sure, but he _thinks_ Byakuya’s lips are twitching again. “No,” says Byakuya simply. “The rest I paid for in the usual fashion.”

 

“Well…” Renji clears his throat. Beside him, Rukia looks like she might be dozing off - her eyes are droopy and unfocused, chin nodding down onto her chest. She’s had a big day: first the ceremony, then all the congratulations, and now a couple of hours of watching him stuff his face under her brother’s inscrutable gaze. “If you’re ever short a dinner guest...I mean, ah, it was a privilege to dine with you! It was a real feast.” He grins widely and gives Rukia a gentle prod; she starts upwards, blinking rapidly as if to clear her eyes. “Starting to look like this one’s had a bit much, eh?”

 

It takes less than a millisecond for Rukia’s eyes to sharpen into clear focus. “I’m fine,” she says at once, with a baleful glare at Renji. “I was just...digesting.”

 

Byakuya casts a sharply analytical eye over Rukia, and for a split second Renji is put in mind of those winter nights in Rukongai when he used to wake himself up to check Rukia’s temperature. She had a terrible habit of throwing her blankets off in her sleep, and suffering for it; the risk of imminent hypothermia was always at the front of Renji’s mind, and the expression on Byakuya’s face suggests a similar kind of concern as he takes in her drooping eyelids and wilting posture. The expression fades almost at once, but the stern indifference that replaces it looks suddenly a great deal less convincing than it used to.

 

“It’s grown later than I realised,” he says, and glances over at the lurking servant who jolts to full attention as though Byakuya’s gaze is an electric current. “Perhaps our guest would like a cup of tea to help his meal settle?”

 

Which is probably some kind of roundabout code for ‘why the hell are you still in my house?’ And after a feast like this, the last thing Renji wants to do is overstay his welcome and risk not getting invited again. So he waves away the servant and says, “Nah, don’t worry about it. I should probably be getting out of your hair now...work tomorrow, and all.” And Byakuya’s expression flickers a little but he makes no real protest, so Renji decides he must have done the right thing. Probably. Maybe.

 

It’s not like he’s ever had much of a knack for subtle social cues.

 

He disposes of the rest of the pleasantries quickly, thanks Byakuya again, congratulates Rukia one last time, and takes his leave. But he doesn’t quite get away before Byakuya fixes him with a thoughtful look and declares, in a tone of unwavering authority, that Renji will have to dine with them again sometime soon.

 

It sounds more like an order than an invitation. And maybe that’s why, as he leaves, Renji can’t seem to keep the smile off his face.

 

-

 

“Me?”

 

“If you say that one more time,” says Rukia, “I’m going to give up and retract the invitation.”

 

Renji snaps his mouth shut at once, and settles for staring at Rukia in silent incredulity. Because he’s hearing what she’s saying, but there’s no way that someone like Abarai Renji is actually getting invited to tag along with a family of nobles for one of the year’s biggest social events. There’s just no way.

 

“You’ll need to find something decent to wear,” Rukia goes on, unaffected by Renji’s wide-eyed disbelief. “In theory it’s informal, but nobody wants to be the one who shows up under-dressed, so everyone will be in their nicest visiting clothes at the least. Do you have something suitable?”

 

“Uh...sure,” says Renji, thinking of his own sparse, informal wardrobe and wondering if he knows anyone his size who’ll be able to loan him something. Visiting clothes? Renji’s got his uniform, a couple of ratty old yukata for lounging, and one slightly less ratty outfit that passes for decent in an inner-district pub but definitely won’t pass among Soul Society’s greatest, richest names. “But look...are you sure it’s a good idea, bringing me to something like this? You know I’m not great with all that etiquette stuff.”

 

Rukia gives Renji a look that puts him in mind of the captain receiving one of his more hastily written mission reports. “It’s the hanami, Renji, not some high court function. All you have to do is sit still and eat your lunch and try not to trip over anyone’s picnic.”

 

This sounds unlikely to Renji, given what little he knows about the kinds of high-class social functions that Rukia and Byakuya attend. “What about Kuchiki-taichou?” he asks, stomach fluttering a little with anxiety. “Is he really going to be okay with having me underfoot the whole time?”

 

“Actually,” says Rukia, “Nii-sama was the one who suggested I invite you. It...goes on for a while, and it’s not like there are many people there for me to talk to. Normally I just sit in the corner and eat too much, so I think he’s decided it’s better if I have someone there to keep me company.” She gives Renji a shifty little smile, cheeks flushed a delicate pink as they always are whenever Byakuya does something that could be loosely interpreted as affectionate. It pleases Renji that he’s been seeing so much more of that colour in recent times - not that he’s going to mention it to Rukia.

 

Right now his thoughts towards his captain are centred a little closer to home. Like how unexpected it is that Byakuya would nominate _him_ as the best person to accompany Rukia to the hanami. It seems so out of character that he’s honestly tempted to believe it’s all an elaborate prank, and it’s with considerable reluctance that he yields to the invitation and gets busy trying to find _someone_ who can lend him a suitable outfit. It doesn’t help that he’s bigger than most of the people he knows, but eventually he badgers Kira into borrowing an old kimono and formal hakama from a much larger cousin, and after that it’s just a matter of obsessively reviewing his table manners and waiting for the fateful day to arrive.

 

Towards the heart of Seireitei, sheltered by the outer walls of the first division compound, is a sprawling park where the most beautiful cherry blossoms in all of Soul Society bloom. That’s what everyone has heard, but belief in the fact comes mostly down to faith: for as long as anyone can remember the space has belonged to the great noble houses during sakura season, in the unspoken, unofficial sort of way that makes Seireitei’s lesser inhabitants break out in a cold sweat at the thought of intruding. The reputation of the parties held there is so high that many of the first division’s soldiers don’t bother leaving the barracks for the hanami, but take a picnic lunch up to their rooftops where they can view festivities in the park from afar.

 

Renji has heard all of this and more, and everything he’s heard sounds so glamorous that by the time the day rolls around, he’s not sure if he’s so excited that he’s going to burst or so anxious that he’s going to fall in a heap and forget how to move. It doesn’t help that one look at Byakuya and Rukia, when he arrives at the manor to meet them, makes him realise exactly how cheap and ill-chosen his scavenged outfit looks in comparison to theirs. Together they make a contrast that is at once striking and superbly tasteful: Rukia in a wide dazzling spectrum of spring colours, Byakuya muted and dignified in deep, rich navy. Renji’s disbelief at the invitation is starting to melt away into a grim certainty: obviously this whole thing is a lesson of some sort, a way to put him in his place, to torture him with embarrassment for Rukia’s scorn and Byakuya’s sadistic amusement.

 

“You look fine,” Rukia assures him. Through the black haze of his despair Renji notices that Byakuya has developed a sudden and well-timed concern with the bustling activities of his servants, giving Rukia time to pat Renji’s arm to calm him down, impatient and reassuring all at once.

 

“I don’t know why you brought me,” Renji hisses under his breath. “I’ve never been to a party this fancy in my life before, and now you want me to crash the year’s poshest picnic in hakama that don’t even fit?”

 

“You’re _fine_ ,” Rukia repeats. “Just trust me, will you? Nobody attends the hanami to pay attention to the other guests. They’ll all be so busy with the food, I’ll be surprised if anyone even notices you’re there.”

 

“That’s reassuring,” says Renji tersely. But it’s much too late to back out now. Byakuya loses interest in the servants the moment Renji has pulled himself together - an interesting coincidence that Renji decides gratefully not to remark upon - and since everything has been prepared for them, there’s nothing for it but to set off for the park and hope he’s not going to embarrass himself too badly.

 

He forgets to be worried about the same moment he arrives at their reserved picnic spot.

 

It’s hard not to wonder how many people the Kuchiki clan servants had to kill to secure this patch for them, because the last time he saw this many cherry blossoms was when he faced down Byakuya’s bankai. And admittedly at the time he was too busy struggling for survival to fully appreciate the beauty of the scene, but he thinks this is probably a million times more beautiful: a loose bower of pink-laden branches is draped high overhead, filtering the bright midday sunlight into a dappled glow, and there’s virtually no direction he can turn his head that doesn’t yield a stunning view. Especially when he lowers his eyes to the picnic already being laid out for them by the servants, and realises that Rukia wasn’t kidding when she said her promotion dinner was a ‘humble’ affair by comparison.

 

Renji has never seen so much food in his life.

 

“Told you,” says Rukia, and there’s definitely a note of smugness in her voice. “This is _the_ day of the year for food, Renji. I’m pretty sure our head chef plans the spread months in advance.”

 

“Gyuh…” Renji’s pretty sure his mouth is hanging wide open, and he can’t for the life of him remember how to close it. He’s done picnics for the hanami before - greasy finger food for the most part, a couple of onigiri, a trusty bottle of cheap sake. Here there’s not a soggy chicken drumstick in sight, but there are bowls full of fresh, vibrant salads and heaped piles of cold noodles and large baskets of crispy fried chicken and crumbed prawns and a wide assortment of other finger-foods Renji can’t identify but feels confident will be mouth-wateringly delicious.

 

Beside him, Rukia’s smug smile is now firmly in place. “A lot of people pack individual bento boxes,” she says. “But we’ve always preferred a communal meal for the hanami. Help yourself to a bit of everything - that’s what everyone does.”

 

And ‘everyone’ is turning out to be an intimidating prospect in and of itself. Apparently the Kuchiki clan is a fair bit bigger than Renji ever realised; most of the faces he sees around him are completely unfamiliar, all dressed in elaborate finery and carrying themselves like they own the whole world. Byakuya has already wandered off with a group of them, all talking and nodding and exchanging pleasantries, and nobody seems to mind or even notice that Renji is there in their midst. It ought to be terrifying, being surrounded by this many nobles all at once, but everyone is so happy and comfortable that Renji’s nerves are starting to settle down despite himself. He ends up helping himself to a generous serve of everything that’s on offer, and settling down with Rukia in the first vacant spot they find to shovel food into their mouths in amiable silence and watch the festivities unfold around them.

 

He could probably stand to benefit from watching more than just whatever Byakuya’s up to, but he finds his eyes keep coming back to the same spot where the back of a familiar, impeccably straight-shouldered figure can be seen amidst the flurry of cheerful activity. This is the second time Renji has seen Byakuya really set aside his captain’s persona, and the first time Byakuya was too busy recovering from a near-fatal stab wound to pay much attention to Renji’s slightly obsessive staring. This time is...even better than the last, marked far less by hourly nurse visits and far more by an appealing view of Byakuya in profile when he turns to greet newcomers to their group.

 

And every time he does it, Renji feels an odd little squirm in his stomach and has to take a quick mouthful of sake to compensate. It’s easy to be impressed by Byakuya in the office and easier still to be intimidated, but the relaxed atmosphere of the hanami is bringing out a different quality in him - one that makes Renji’s heart beat just a little faster where he sits.

 

It’s not the kind of environment that encourages self-restraint, and so there doesn’t seem much point in holding back on the drinks to accompany their feast. Maybe that’s why time starts to blur a little as they sit there, and after a while it dawns on Renji that it’s been a while since Rukia broke the silence with one of her affectionately cutting jabs about the excesses of his appetite. She’s off in the periphery of his vision chatting to a group of strikingly beautiful young women in elaborate kimono, and he’s gazing up at the flowers above his head and absent-mindedly shoving morsels of chicken into his mouth even though he’s starting to feel quite uncomfortably full. He’s perfectly happy just sitting here in silence - company isn’t really necessary, not with so much food and drink available - and he’s debating whether the time is right to make his move on the succulent-looking sushi platter that’s just been brought out into the middle of the spread by one of the servants. It probably is, but that would involve rising from his place and walking over to it, which strikes him as a prohibitively difficult prospect. What would Rukia or Byakuya do? They’d probably catch the servant’s attention and have the platter delivered straight to them, but Renji can’t remember what the polite way of flagging for service is - wave? Beckon? Yell out and hope they hear him? Maybe he should just sit here quietly and wait until one of them accidentally catches his eye...

 

“Is the food to your liking?”

 

He starts as Byakuya emerges from out of nowhere, sinking neatly down next to Renji on the blanket and casting him a soft, ephemeral smile. He’s more relaxed and cheerful than Renji can remember ever having seen him before, eyes bright, cheeks ever so lightly flushed, hair swinging loose about his face in the gentle breeze. “It’s delicious,” Renji says, brushing the crumbs hastily from his lips and trying to ignore the strange urge he has to reach out and tuck some of those wayward strands back out of Byakuya’s face. All the good food and drink have left him off his guard, too happy himself to feel overly worried about manners or self-censorship. “I can hardly believe it’s even okay to eat stuff that’s this good. Feels like such a waste...but I can’t stop stuffing my face.”

 

There’s that smile again, and Byakuya’s eyes roam over Renji with a curious intensity. “I like seeing you enjoy yourself,” he says, causing Renji to promptly strike out ‘relaxed and cheerful’ and replace it with ‘really fucking tipsy’. And honestly, the flushed cheeks should have been a dead giveaway. “You should eat with us more often. It’s...compelling to watch.”

 

“Right.” Looking for an excuse to hide his burgeoning grin, Renji snatches up a spare drinking cup and pours out a measure of sake for Byakuya. And another for himself, just to be safe. In all the time they’ve known each other he’s never seen his captain any less than stone-cold sober; the experience is so novel that it doesn’t even occur to him to be flustered by what Byakuya seems to be implying. “Well hey, if you’re that desperate for dinner guests, I’m all yours.”

 

“Are you? That’s good to hear.” There’s a teasing tilt to Byakuya’s lips but his eyes are dark, pupils dilated, and belatedly Renji remembers exactly what ‘flustered’ feels like. “But look - your plate is almost empty.”

 

Over the swooping feeling in his stomach, Renji just barely registers Byakuya waving one of the servants over. And he’s too busy feeling giddy to protest a single item Byakuya orders, even though he’s already so full that his borrowed clothes, a little on the loose side when he put them on this morning, are beginning to feel uncomfortably tight around the middle. “Really,” is the best he’s able to manage, “I’m sure I’ve already eaten more than...wait, there are sweets too?” As the servant returns with a newly laden tray, it immediately dawns on Renji that he’s got plenty of room left in his stomach after all.

 

Ingrained politeness makes him hold out the offerings to Byakuya first, even though his immediate impulse is to block access to the tray and snarl at anyone who tries to approach. There are sweet rice cakes, stained pink for the season, and sugary little dumplings and plump fresh berries and red bean paste _everything_. “I don’t care for sweets,” says Byakuya, waving the offering away, so Renji does away with ceremony and snatches up a cake, face alight with greedy enthusiasm. Byakuya just smiles and sips his drink, watching sedately as Renji devours his treat.

 

The party carries on until long after it’s dark, and bright decorative lanterns illuminate the blossoms overhead. At some point Rukia comes back and forces Renji to share his sweets, and after sitting with them quietly for a while Byakuya is sighted and dragged away by a very jovial nobleman whose lurching gait makes Byakuya look quite sober by comparison. Renji watches as they walk away, and he sees Byakuya cast one last glance back at him over his shoulder: brief, but scorching, and for a split second of madness Renji is tempted to leap up and follow him.

 

It’s probably a good thing he’s too full and lazy to follow through on the impulse. He settles instead for attacking his food with renewed vigour, well aware that he might not get invited to a feast this delicious ever again. Rukia is now tipsy enough that she no longer bothers making fun of his appetite, so there’s nothing for Renji to do but try his best to catch up to her. For once, his inconveniently high alcohol tolerance isn’t posing a problem - whenever their bottle runs empty they can just call for another one. The consequence of this is that by the time Byakuya escapes from his drunken companion and comes back over to them, Renji’s head is spinning and he’s only dimly aware that a crimson-cheeked Rukia is now snoring and drooling in his lap. The look Byakuya gives him is reminder enough; he sits up as straight as he can and tries to look innocent as Byakuya’s eyebrows climb slowly higher on his forehead.

 

Oddly enough, though, he doesn’t look irritated. Just...amused, and patiently tolerant in a way that suggests this might not be his first time witnessing such antics from Rukia. Which is encouraging, Renji thinks. Encouraging that she’s letting her guard down more around him, and encouraging that he’s permitting it. And also encouraging because it means Renji’s not going to get saddled with the blame for her over-indulgence.

 

“I suspect,” says Byakuya, “it might be time to get my sister home.”

 

“She’s...uh, she’s had a pretty big night,” says Renji with what he hopes is a winsome smile.

“You know Rukia, she’s always been an early bird. Doesn’t cope well with late nights.”

 

“Of course.” Byakuya acknowledges the claim with a dip of his head, and obligingly doesn’t mention that it’s barely past dinner time. “Since she’s made herself so...comfortable with you, perhaps it would be best if you help me get her home.”

 

It’s an odd request - an order disguised as a suggestion, or perhaps the other way around, and whichever way he looks at it Renji can see no reason why Byakuya couldn’t just have the servants bundle Rukia off back home without either of their support. It’s not like she’s in any immediate danger, besides her impending hangover. But there’s a very particular intensity about the way Byakuya is looking at him, something that says this is about a lot more than his simple assistance, and so he obediently gathers Rukia into his arms and rises - his legs are wobblier than he expected, but it’s not too bad - and Byakuya leads him back through the crowd to a coach that will take them home.

 

And Renji may be a little bit drunk by now, but he’s sure he’s not imagining the way Byakuya is sitting a good bit closer than he needs to, casting him sidelong glances through the loose fringe of hair still shading his eyes. And he’s _definitely_ not imagining the hand Byakuya offers him as he clambers down out of the coach, his movements clumsy from too much food and drink, and he’s also not imagining the lingering touch on his arm or the quiet murmur of “Let’s get her to bed, and then you and I can talk.”

 

And he’s not imagining the wild pounding of his heart when he realises that Byakuya’s footsteps are leading them, not back towards one of the main visiting rooms in the house but to Byakuya’s own private quarters, as evidenced by the small scattering of personal effects and the futon just visible through the half-open screen door to the adjoining room.

 

Renji’s pulse is racing as he waits for Byakuya to make a move, but Byakuya hesitates; he calls for tea, which isn’t quite the erotic onslaught Renji was half-hoping for but is a nice enough gesture in itself. They sit carelessly cross-legged across from each other and sip their drinks in companionable silence, and gradually the world starts to slow its spinning trajectory and Renji's giddiness gives way to a warm, lazy torpor.

 

“Today was really nice,” says Renji, trying not to let his voice betray his growing sleepiness - he’s still got hopes that he’s been invited back for a reason, and images of Byakuya’s strangely intense gaze from earlier are swirling thick and fast through his mind. He needs to stay excited, needs to not relax so much that he falls asleep and ends up joining Rukia getting bundled off to sleep in a drunken stupor. “I’m really glad you invited me...thank you.”

 

A shadow of a smile crosses Byakuya’s lips, and Renji’s memories are becoming reality again - his eyes are dark, and he’s making no effort to hide the heat in his gaze as he looks Renji up and down. “Today needn’t be over quite yet,” he says, voice just a low murmur, and the jolt that runs through Renji’s body makes him completely forget that he’s mostly sobered up. “There’s one last thing I haven’t seen you enjoy yet...if you are amenable.”

 

Liquid fire is coursing through Renji’s veins, and this can’t be real, it _can’t_ , because he’s already been given so much tonight and surely his luck isn’t allowed to stretch this far. _I like seeing you enjoy yourself_ , Byakuya had said earlier, and at the time Renji fancied the words held extra meaning but now there’s no mistaking it. Byakuya is watching him in much the same way Renji watched his gourmet meal earlier - _hungry_ \- and there’s so little energy left in Renji but no matter what, there’s enough for this. And so he lets impulse take over and moves forward, slowly, deliberately, maintaining eye contact until the very last second. Byakuya’s lips taste like tea and a lingering whisper of the sake he was drinking earlier, and Renji sinks into the contact and lets Byakuya take over with teeth and tongue and hands that cradle Renji’s face like something uniquely precious.

 

He’s in a daze, more intoxicated now than he ever was back at the picnic, and somehow he’s being guided back towards the bed though he doesn’t remember standing up. Byakuya’s touch is slow and lingering, and the air is cool where it brushes Renji’s skin as he sheds his borrowed clothes. He falls back willingly, and the next thing he knows is the soft caress of silk on his back and the warmth of Byakuya's skin as he falls with him, with a grace that defies all reason, arms braced either side of Renji’s head to form a protective alcove over him.

 

Renji's not sure what he's supposed to do - surely there's something more to it than just lying here like a starfish. But Byakuya's lips are descending on his neck, nipping, teasing, and Renji's arousal isn't the fierce, demanding thing he's used to. He's too full and sleepy and sated to burn properly; the heat he feels is like embers, glowing bright in his stomach and radiating warmth that pools and concentrates in the places Byakuya's lips brush. And his complacency seems to suit Byakuya. On Renji’s sigh of pleasure something leaves his touches, a tentativeness Renji hadn’t realised was there; he catches one of Renji’s wrists as if to hold it in place and slides down lower, trailing little bites and kisses down Renji’s stomach as he goes.

 

Renji’s pulse is accelerating so fast he feels dizzy. “What are you doing?” he breathes, scrambling to find some way of saying ‘you don’t have to do this’ that doesn’t sound like ‘stop’ (he’s not sure he could _cope_ if Byakuya stopped). Byakuya’s tongue glides down along the curve of his hipbone in answer, and that hand on Renji’s wrist tightens minutely - _don’t move_ \- and compliance has never been more in Renji’s interests than it is now. He shudders.

 

“So easily persuaded,” says Byakuya, almost to himself. “You’re every bit as greedy as I thought.” He sounds unduly happy about this fact. A tongue flicks out to swirl around the tip of Renji’s cock, and it’s a little like an electric shock: a sharp jolt runs through Renji and he digs his hands into the sheets around him and hangs on tight.

 

“Steady.” Byakuya chuckles, deep and low in his throat. “If you don’t want to do this, I can-”

 

“That’s not necessary!” The words are out of Renji’s mouth before he even realises, and he prays fervently that the accidental interruption isn’t going to disqualify him as a blowjob recipient. “That is, uh...I mean, please keep going. If you’re happy to.”

 

There’s that chuckle again. Renji has never really heard Byakuya laugh before, and the sound is at once charming and captivating. Not quite as captivating as the tongue now tracing the length of Renji’s cock, but that’s probably not a fair comparison for anything. Because all Renji wants is _more_ , now, and when it’s not forthcoming he finds himself arching up off the bed as if enough insistence will get him what he wants.

 

As if insistence has _ever_ worked on Byakuya.

 

The gentle mouthing and the tiny licks don’t stop. They also don’t intensify. Renji feels like crawling out of his skin, but if he does that then he might miss something - like the faint appreciative murmur Byakuya makes, apparently unconsciously, when Renji starts to squirm beneath his touch in earnest. Or the way his free hand rubs up and down the inside of Renji’s thigh, at once possessive and provocative and strangely reassuring. Sometimes, on nights when his emerging longing got the better of him, Renji used to lie back in his own bed and picture what it would be like to be with Byakuya. Even the gentlest of his fantasies were always laced with a certain violence, because he felt surer than anything that Byakuya would be the type to take. He would take and command and control, like he does in the office, like he does on the battlefield. It would never have crossed Renji’s mind that it could be like this between them.

 

Because what _is_ this, exactly? It’s not tender, but it’s not demanding either. They’ve moved into some hazy liminal space where two extremes of passion meet, where gentleness is a vice-like grip on his wrist and violence is the overwhelming absence of touch when Byakuya pulls his lips away. Renji groans, sluggish brain already fumbling for words of protest, but Byakuya just smiles and gives his thigh another reassuring squeeze. “Relax, Renji. Do you have any reason to think I don’t intend to satisfy you?”

 

“I-” Renji swallows around the strange noise that is struggling to come out of his mouth, somewhere between a sigh and a squeak. The truth is that this whole day has been about Renji’s satisfaction, and all the while Byakuya has been looking on like the sight is fulfilling some deep need within him. Now he’s shrugging off his own clothes, climbing back up the bed and pulling Renji onto his side to face him. He’s mouthing at Renji’s ear, then down to his neck, and a hand is snaking around his hips to pull Renji closer still. They’re skin to skin and Renji can’t help it, he’s grinding against Byakuya like a fumbling adolescent, and Byakuya’s teeth are becoming forceful, _sharp_ against his neck. And when they’re done Renji is going to kill whoever told Byakuya that he likes being bitten like that, because it’s going to be the end of him if Byakuya doesn’t hurry up and do something _more_.

 

“Do you have any lube?” he pants, teeth gritted around an impending whine of frustration. If he wasn’t so distracted he’d probably be feeling quite proud of his subtlety, because he thinks it might be to early to take a chance on ‘damn it, just fuck me already!’ with someone as well-to-do as his captain.

 

But Byakuya just chuckles again, breath puffing warm and ticklish against Renji’s neck. “Yes, but I won’t be needing it at present. We’re fine as we are.” Renji can hear the smirk in his voice, and it couldn’t be clearer that Byakuya knows exactly how frustrating he’s being.

 

Which means it’s time for Renji to up his game. “We could be better,” he says, trying for a sultry purr but straying perhaps a little too close to a whine. He allows his hand to glide down along Byakuya’s back and Byakuya allows it, exhaling softly against Renji’s neck, so Renji grips his hip firmly and tries to grind harder against him. No good - Byakuya just tilts back to compensate, and his next bite to Renji’s throat is hard, punishing. “God _damn_ it, captain-”

 

“Be quiet, Renji.” Byakuya pulls back to look at him, eyes warm and dark with pleasure. “It’s not my fault you over-indulged. You’re not fit for anything athletic this evening, so you’ll just have to endure being handled more carefully.” Renji feels the warm pressure of a hand wrapping around him, wrapping around both of them, and he groans and tosses his head to the side. Byakuya’s pace is slow and, defeated, Renji sinks into it; he tilts his head back and lets Byakuya’s mouth freely explore his throat, stopping to suck and nibble wherever Renji’s breath hitches. A warm burn is spreading through his veins and Byakuya’s cock against his is like a firebrand, relentlessly and almost shockingly intimate. He can feel Byakuya’s breath against his skin and it’s starting to get ragged, quiet little sighs hissing through his lips when Renji starts thrusting up against him once more.

 

It’s still not enough. They’re rocking against each other like it’s the most natural thing in the world and Byakuya’s mouth has fallen to Renji’s shoulder, biting down on the flesh there as if to muffle the soft sounds spilling from his mouth. It’s starting to become more than Renji can take, and maybe Byakuya knows it because he’s pulling back again, turning Renji over, and Renji’s arms tremble helplessly as he props himself up on his elbows. His heart is like a drum in his chest. Byakuya’s hand is slick with oil when it finally comes back to wrap around Renji once more, his own slick cock rubbing ever so gently along the cleft of Renji’s ass, and holding up his own weight immediately becomes far too much work for Renji. He falls forward with his hips tilted high in the air, and muffles his face in the pillow, because by this point dignity is so much less important than the fact that Byakuya is finally ( _finally_ ) going to fuck him.

 

He’s achingly ready for it, and the slow stroke on his cock is driving him to the edge of his sanity. He thrusts back again; no effect. Byakuya remains steady, with barely a hitch of his breath. Tension is starting to build in Renji’s belly and he grits his teeth, waits for the burning stretch that he’s sure will send him over the edge. But it’s not coming, and his whimper turns into a groan turns into a _howl_ that very nearly drowns out Byakuya’s breathless murmur by his ear: “Patience.” His stores of patience are totally depleted. Byakuya is grinding against Renji’s ass like he’s in no hurry at all and each brush of his cock over Renji’s entrance is maddening. He’s writhing between dual points of stimulation and Byakuya’s thumb is circling the head of his cock and all of a sudden it’s all too much. He gives up and buries his face in the pillow and _comes_ , and when the violent shudders recede he finds himself completely flat on his stomach on the bed, shaking like a leaf in the wind, too utterly sated to do much more than groan the last flutters of his appreciation into the pillow clenched between his teeth.

 

And of course _now_ Byakuya sees fit to fuck him.

 

He does his best to reciprocate Byakuya’s enthusiasm. At least he makes a nominal effort to tilt his hips back up invitingly, and mumbles his willingness into the pillow. But everything is sinking into a haze of blurry, unfocused pleasure, and all he really wants to do is lie there like a stunned mullet and feel Byakuya move inside him and catch each bitten-back sound of pleasure that falls from his lips. It feels like several hours float blissfully by before Byakuya groans aloud and goes rigid, hands gripping Renji’s hips hard enough to bruise, and the pain just dissipates into the tide of sensation rolling through Renji’s body. He breathes out a long sigh and makes one last heroic effort to persuade Byakuya not to pull out yet - well, he flops his hand around aimlessly behind him in an indeterminate gesture that doesn’t achieve its intended goal, but does at least win him a quick kiss to the top of his head and an arm draped loosely around him as Byakuya settles down at his side.

 

“You should probably stay here for the night,” says Byakuya, perfectly solemn despite his audible breathlessness. “You’ve had a busy day, and I wouldn’t like to see you exhaust yourself trying to get home.” For all the passion in his voice he might as well be requesting a mission report, but the flicker of warmth is still there in his voice and his fingers are playing gentle chords up and down Renji’s spine. And after everything he’s been given today, Renji doesn’t have it in him to argue.

 

-

 

The bed is empty when he wakes.

 

There’s no confusion, no moment of uncertainty as to where he is. He can still feel the deep inner ache and scattering of tender bitemarks across his neck and, more tellingly still, the sheets he’s sprawled out on are pure silk and most definitely do not belong to him. He sits bolt upright and then immediately changes his mind, head and stomach lurching in unison as the room around him launches on a dizzying trajectory. In the wake of his loud groan the door slides open and a wizened old head pops around it, then quickly withdraws, and it occurs to Renji that Byakuya must have stationed his manservant to kick him out at the first signs of consciousness.

 

So it comes as a surprise when the old man comes tottering back moments later carrying nothing but a tray of freshly brewed tea, and sets it down by Renji’s side with a low bow and a rather pompous clearing of his throat.

 

“My lord wishes me to pass along the following instructions,” he says. “Do not rush yourself trying to make a hasty departure, but please feel free to take your breakfast here. We will prepare a simple rice porridge, since your stomach presumably needs the rest. Afterwards, if it pleases you, you are welcome to join my lord in his study where he has taken refuge from your…” The man pauses, a flicker of something like disapproval furrowing his brows. “Heinous bed-hogging tendencies,” he finishes with a curt little sniff.

 

And Renji can’t help it. His nausea recedes almost immediately, and a broad grin stretches across his face. “Cheers,” he says. “Only go tell _your lord_ the coast is clear now, and he can come back and entertain his guest over breakfast like a proper host.” The servant bows his head and bustles off, tutting his disapproval under his breath, leaving Renji to try and smooth the tousled sheets back down lest their messiness drive Byakuya away a second time.

  
Renji’s no prophet, but this looks to him like the start of a pretty great day.


End file.
